The Clueless Tourist Society.

This year, DTAC was happening in Amman, Jordan. When we booked our tickets, we pictured a serene, culturally enriching experience. Sunsets over Petra. Spiritual awakenings at Mount Nebo. Floating like smug buoys in the Dead Sea. Basically, Eat Pray Love, and listen to awesome speakers. We did most, and a few.

The first meal of the day was around 10AM in the flight. After a brief nap at the hotel room and by 3PM, my stomach was growling. Hunger! I reached for the phone and my room mate Katrak suggested, "let us go out and explore the local cuisine". I should have said NO. But I didn't. We both walked out; met Marco and friends in the lobby.

It all went wrong at “We’re just stepping out for food”.

Marco and friends had found an 'economy' category cab driver who offered a comprehensive Jordan tour for an unbeatable price. I patted my grumbling stomach that seemed to tell me that it could wait for 'something on the way'. But we had to wait again since our group were 8 and we needed one more cab. Our cab driver's brother was on his way. He turned up 30 minutes later.

Let us call him Captain Detour (because GPS was clearly optional for him).

My stomach let out a howl. I looked around with embarrassment.

“You want food? I take you good place. Then, maybe small trip. Dead Sea, Madaba, Church of Moses. Easy. No problem", Captain Detour said confidently. A steel covered molar glinted from the corner of his mouth.

This, dear reader, was the moment the group collectively failed the side quest. Against every survival instinct, we climbed into the car, (I, driven by hunger and blind optimism). One friend mumbled, “What’s the worst that could happen?” (We no longer speak to him.)

First stop: A restaurant that may have been a mirage.

He did, in fairness, take us to eat, eventually. We were driven through what felt like multiple time zones, until we reached a roadside restaurant that may or may not have also been someone’s cousin’s house. I saw the place and sat in the car. The brave ones in the cab in front of us ordered 'chai'. The ambiance was “captivity with a view.”

“Now we go Dead Sea. You’ll float! Like magic!”

We cheered. My stomach sank. He took a turn. Then another. Then several that did not seem Dead Sea-adjacent. None of us data connection.

We eventually “arrived” at what we were assured was the Dead Sea. Technically, it was. Spiritually? Emotionally? Not even close. The “viewpoint” he took us to was the Dead Sea’s least photogenic angle: a rocky cliff, no access, and one deflated sign reading “Welcome to Jordan.” You could float in the water... if you were a bird.

One friend was asleep in the back. Another was staring at the horizon, whispering, “Are we still in Jordan or did we loop back to Abu Dhabi?” A third just kept asking when we’d see “the spa from Instagram.” (Never. The answer was never.)

Onward to Madaba! (In Theory)

Captain Detour, encouraged by our silence and Stockholm Syndrome, continued. “Madaba now. Mosaics! Very famous!”

Did we go to Madaba? That depends on your definition. If Madaba is a holy site full of ancient Christian art and architectural glory, then no. If Madaba is a 12-minute stop next to a tire shop while your driver waves vaguely and says “You walk, maybe it’s there?” then yes. Yes, we did. We walked. We never found the mosaics. We did find a man selling cracked fridge magnets. One of us bought three, possibly out of despair.

The church of Moses: The ultimate tease.

“You see Moses! He see promised land from here!” That was the pitch. What we saw was either:

A locked gate.

A construction site.

Or someone’s backyard with a cross on it.

We tried to make it spiritual. We stood silently. Reflected. Took a group selfie that looked like a missing persons alert.

Return journey: Existential crisis in a moving vehicle.

As we drove back in silent defeat, we realized something harrowing: this had all started with a quest for lunch. MY LUNCH!

We had boarded a cab for falafel and emerged from a full-blown biblical detour where we saw approximately the general regions of famous places, but only if we squinted and had Google Images open. By now, half of us were asleep in the cab like kidnapped diplomats. The rest were staring out the window, wondering if we were still technically tourists or just unpaid participants in an experimental geography lesson. My large intestine had swallowed the small intestine.

Final Reflection.

Would we recommend Jordan? Absolutely. It’s stunning. Historic. Majestic. Would we recommend getting into a cab “just to eat” and then casually surrendering all agency to a man with loose landmark logic? Only if you’re emotionally resilient and have low expectations for closure.

Still, we learned a lot:

Never follow a man who says “just small trip.” And no matter what, if you think you are near the Dead sea, you’re probably 45 minutes and 2 prayer breaks away.